Work Text:
15th December 2024, Barcelona 0 - Leganés 1
Deeply frustrated, Pedri dried himself off after turning off the water in the shower. They were giving up their lead in the league game by game, and slowly, they didn't know what was happening anymore. The game in Dortmund wasn't good either, even if they had won it in the end, but they should have won today. There was no excuse for their performance today.
The mood in the dressing room was sour, with no one daring to talk louder than hushed conversations with their dressing room neighbour after the coach's rough words directed at them. With a towel around his hip, Pedri headed for his seat, his brows furrowed. When he noticed Pedri, Ferran was already in his seat and looked up from his phone, but the seat next to Ferran was empty, and Pedri stopped for a moment. Pablo's belongings were still in exactly the same place as before the game, and there was no sign of the Sevillian. Hadn't Pablo said he would shower immediately, and then they could drive home when Pedri had asked him?
"Where is he?" Pedri asked Ferran, who had obviously been back in the cabin for some time, and quickly changed into fresh clothes.
"I don't know exactly. He left shortly after Flick gave us the speech." Unsuspectingly, the older man shrugged before adding, "But Aurora was there, right? Maybe he wanted to catch up with her again."
"Maybe," Pedri agreed, though he wasn't really convinced. They'd seen Aurora before the match, and after the final whistle, he'd seen Pablo talking to her briefly. It was unlikely that she was still in the stadium until now, and Pedri knew how it always went. They all drove to the stadium together and said goodbye right after the end of the match - except after important games - before Aurora went home. As Pedri and Gavi usually needed at least an hour before they could make their way home, Aurora never waited for them at supposedly uninteresting league matches.
Fully dressed, Pedri finally glanced at his phone, but he had not received a message from his boyfriend; only Fer had texted him. He put it in his back pocket and lightly squeezed Ferran's shoulder.
"I'll go check on him," he said softly, then brushed through the Valencian's hair again. "I'll see you tomorrow."
His best friend murmured goodbye to him before Pedri slipped out of the dressing room and made his way onto the pitch. Inside, he already knew where he was likely to meet his boyfriend; the only question was what state he would be in. Pablo had always been an emotional person who felt every emotion to the extreme. From anger to love, Pablo didn't do things halfway. It was a trait that often gave Pedri goosebumps. Now, though, there was only concern because Pablo had never been good at dealing with defeats.
Too often, he saw them as his fault without acknowledging the failed team performance behind them. Pedri knew by now that a good performance on his part would not save the day if the rest of the team didn't play well together, but it had taken him years to do so. And even though Pablo had matured during his injury, Pedri knew he felt like he had to prove himself. He saw it in Pablo's gaze, his training demeanour, and his routine at home. Pablo's ambition was at least clear to him, even if his boyfriend didn't talk about why he wanted to prove himself so badly. And as long as he stuck strictly to the training schedule, Pedri didn't comment on his behaviour either. Pablo wasn't stupid; he knew how to treat his body, and he didn't take any risks. If he gave his all in training without overdoing it, he could do that - and Pedri would admire it a little, too. He just had a look that Pablo was doing it out of a positive drive and not out of fear or pressure.
Pedri, as expected, found him on the field. Pablo had sat down in the back row of the reserve bench, legs pulled to his chest and head resting on them, staring into nothingness. Worried, he made his way to the younger and sat beside him. He looked at Pablo, waiting for him to speak first.
For a few minutes, nothing happened. Pablo just kept staring straight ahead and didn't seem to be able to handle Pedri's presence, which was fine. Pedri knew Gavi couldn't always put his feelings into words. But he usually showed it all the more clearly. The most troubling form of Pablo for Pedri was the one he now had in front of him: a Pablo who said nothing, showed nothing, and didn't seek his affection. There were two possible consequences to that form: either it escalated into an argument because Pedri said something that Pablo misunderstood, or it led to a productive conversation about feelings that Pablo had been carrying around with him for far too long. Pedri hoped it was the latter, and, to avoid an argument, he preferred not to say anything at first. Pablo would talk to him when he was ready.
It was still for a few more moments, then Pablo exhaled audibly before lifting his head and placing it on Pedri's shoulder instead. Immediately, all the tension disappeared from Pedri's body. He turned his head and buried his face in his boyfriend's hair.
"Hey, mi amor," he said, placing one hand on Gavi's. He pressed a tender kiss on his head, prompting Pablo to move closer to him. He was still silent, but at least now he took Pedri's hand and started playing with his fingers.
"I feel like it's my fault," Gavi whispered when he finally found the words. Pedri made a urging sound for him to keep talking and wrapped his free arm around him.
"Since I've been back from my injury, we've been losing regularly," he continued, ducking his head without properly evading Pedri's touches. "I can't help but put that together."
"Correlation does not equal causality," he answered reassuringly, to which Pablo snorted.
"Can you talk like a normal person for once?" he complained, but Pedri felt him relaxing a little. If his super wise sayings, as Pablo used to call them, took Pablo's mind off his fears even for only one moment, he would continue using them his whole life.
"I'm just saying," he smiled. "We've also won against Sevilla, Real Madrid and Bayern since you've returned."
"In all those games, I've barely played 10 minutes, Pepi," he lamented, shrugging his shoulders in despair. "The matches had already been decided when I came on. But every time I actually came on to decide a match, I failed."
"Pablo, you haven't played for almost a year," Pedri reminded him gently, bringing him closer to his chest. "No one expects you to be at 100 per cent and decide games on your own."
"I do, though."
So there it was. The reason for Pablo's ambition, and it just turned into something ugly, something negative. Having high expectations of oneself could be beneficial, especially in professional sports. Still, one shouldn't collapse under them if they are unattainable.
Sighing, Pedri thought back to his thigh injury because he knew all too well what Pablo was going through. He had stuck to the training schedule at the time and thought he was doing everything right, but in the end, it was those 10 per cent he had given too much in training that meant he had to suffer setbacks over and over again.
Inevitably, his thigh tensed, which Pablo immediately noticed. His boyfriend removed one hand from his, moving it over the spot that, to be honest, had given both of them so many headaches. Pablo now rested his chin on his shoulder so that he could look at him with big, round eyes.
"I mentally destroyed myself at the time, you know that," he said quietly. "I felt like everyone expected me to be the same, even though I knew I would never be the same again. Which isn't bad; you have to evolve to move on. But every time you don't get a good result, you receive hateful comments from the outside that you internalise at some point. Comments from people who have no idea. And you want nothing more than to prove those people wrong, but in the end, you do the exact opposite: you put pressure on yourself because you want to perform well, and then you don't perform well and instead prove them right. And the whole circle goes on and on until you eventually break down mentally and maybe even physically. I've taken so much from my injuries, learned so much from them and I don't want you to make the same mistakes that I did. I can't watch you destroy yourself because you think you have something to prove. Because you don't."
Pablo caught his downcast look affectionately, and Pedri wondered how quickly it had happened that Pablo was cheering him up and not the other way around anymore. "You give so much to the team, mi amor," he added after a brief pause. "We're all so incredibly proud of how well you've handled this injury mentally and physically to get to this point, but just because you're fit again doesn't mean you can decide games. You'll get back to the point; no one doubts that, and you, too, should never doubt that, but you've got to be patient. It's not down to you that we're in this sort of crisis at the moment. And with mostly 20 minutes of playing time, you can't save the 70 minutes before."
Smiling, Pablo touched his cheek and blinked away a few tears. "I can't believe I'm going to marry a smart ass," he laughed, to which Pedri rolled his eyes but couldn't stop a grin.
"If you want to call me a smart ass for cheering you up, do it," he grinned, pushing into Pablo's touch. "Because as long as I love you, I will always ensure you're okay. And it doesn't look like I'm going to stop loving you anytime soon."
"Jesus Christ." Touched, Pablo shook his head, strengthened his grip around him, and now a single tear ran down his cheek. "I love you so much, Pepi. And thank you for always taking away all my fears."
"What's the point of having a future husband if not that?" he teased, enjoying how the blush on Pablo's cheeks deepened at his words. They both knew that now wasn't the time to even think about a wedding, but still, it was a nice feeling to know they were on the same page. They wanted to stay together forever.
Contented, he leaned forward to kiss Pablo, which he readily accepted. He realised that his boyfriend was pouring all his excess emotions into the kiss, which quickly made the kiss intense, which he tried to counterbalance. He reached for Pablo's hand, which he was running through his hair, and instead placed it on his chest, just above his heart, and when Pablo could feel his heartbeat, it seemed as if he was calming down. He sighed softly and now dropped completely against Pedri, whereupon the kiss became softer.
Pablo's haven of peace. That term often circulated when he pulled his boyfriend out of an argument. He always managed to calm Pablo down in any situation, and he was also a little proud of it; he was happy to admit that. Driving Pablo Gavira mad was easy, both his teammates and opponents knew that, but only Pedri could calm him down so effectively. And he would do it forever.